


Axis

by Force_Fluff



Series: From the Corner of your Eye [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, very subtly implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:17:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Force_Fluff/pseuds/Force_Fluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without guidance, Kylo Ren allows the past to distract him from their goals. Starkiller falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Axis

The stray glimpse he catches of orange and white plating all together doesn’t mean much. Except his chances of getting off this junker without a few more nicks in his hide rapidly dwindles from some to none. He can feel it the second his foot slips on the oil slick, rusted hull of the freighter Solo’s been shunting his shoddy business around in since the loss of the Millennium Falcon. It’s followed by the snaking grip of the Rathtar behind him, and he’d curse the damn thing up a storm if he didn’t need to pay some serious attention to his aim right then.

He’s not there to catch the final moments of that juiced up scrap heap jumping out of reach of what was supposed to be one of the easiest damn shake downs they’d had in awhile. Picking that ships tell-tale signature up had been something to look forward to at the time. When he’s finally freed from the toothy monstrosity and what remains of the smuggler’s bounty is a steaming paste littering the lower cargo bay, they’ve all been arsing around on the junker too damn long settling petty scores and bruised egos. The Hosnian System’s blown to dust, or so the Enforcer he coms claims. Hosnian Prime and the ‘New Republic’ up and disappearing from the face of the Galaxy would be nice, but seems a kriffing load of kark to him. What really matters is that one of the Destroyer’s that have been hulking dangerously far out into the mid rim territories is already geared up to take pot shots at Takodana, Kanata’s hole in the wall operation caught in the cross-hairs of the great big target Solo has tattooed across his back. He’d find the whole thing more appealing if they’d cashed in on that find themselves.

The wasted intel is one more thing pissing him off, and he reaches his breaking point then and there with that idiot Tasu Leech and what’s left of his KanjaKlub scum. They have enough to deal with as it is, and the loss of anything even close to what could be called a ‘favor’ owed to them by the fanatics at the First Order, if there’s any truth to the pfassk he just heard, is a serious loss.  
Bala-Tik grits his teeth, curses his luck and hopes to hell that smirking fool Han Solo gets his in some way or another. 

______________________________

 

“From where did the order originate?” 

Staring up at the rapidly greying overcast that had slowly barreled across the horizon once again, she supposed he was trying to discern the smaller, secondary mass now inhabiting the orbit of the Starkiller. While it may have been a futile effort from the surface, the effects of the _Eradicator’s_ presence had already begun to make a suitable impression amongst the ranks of the main fortification. However busy they all were, the mood of the base was palpable. Perhaps particularly because of what was coming.

“A legitimate tactical re-engagement from High Command, as far as I can parse out. The recommendation was for enhanced defense after our location was compromised. All of our priority postings are being bumped up as a result.”

“How uncommonly reasonable of them. Is there any way to verify?”

The little furrow between his brows that forever marked the presence of an overly agitated thought process was present as the General turned, determinedly adjusting some non-existent error with the state of his dress. 

“It can’t be refuted at this stage, which is all that matters,” was the terse reply, and she’d find more humor in his unusually frenetic mood if the topic wasn’t this significant. The time frame of everything didn’t really allow for much leeway. For much of anything really. Any commiserations offered would be like trying to pet a rankled loth-cat, and would be best suited for when the action was through. 

“They do make for a sufficiently effective buffer, _sir_.” she offered regardless, and the subsequent snort followed by a wry half-smirk cast vaguely in her direction was enough for now. It was a shame to see it leach from his features as he felt the weight of her stare and finally gave up adjusting his cuff and turned from the view, but the issue was paramount.

“The additional TIE squadrons should allow us some reasonable breathing room. But we’ve no way of knowing the exact scope of the Resistance’s numbers following the first phase, what forces may have rallied to their cause in the interim, however short,” Hux began as he rounded the table separating them, confirming their assessment of the remnants of the New Republic’s need for a swift retaliation. Such were the fall backs of the Order’s initial plan for Starkiller Base, and the General’s irritation following its implementation had not wavered. “I’ve verified the calculations for the jump from the core of the Illenian System and the necessary time for the recharge of the weapon, but the margin for error is still too wide for my liking. We need to be prepared for any and all possible forms of attack in the meantime. They already have one advantage over us. Have you readied the ground forces?”

“Stationed as planned and awaiting further commands,” she confirmed, following in his wake a step behind in their ordered positions. The grip of the blaster in her grasp creaked subtly in protest, and she moved to to adjust it accordingly. There was no sense in lingering on the failures inherent in one defection; they had both already spent what few precious spare hours they had planning for the inevitable pitfalls in facing a force with insider information. It wasn't entirely uncommon. Just disappointing. But retribution was a thing earned. 

“Their representative Lieutenant was escorted by an additional two platoons of troopers for reinforced security, which I siphoned off to the secondary interior guard for supervision.”

They shared a look at this, both exiting the conference room and turning in the direction of the main hub before the Captain continued more pointedly, “My assessment is that we will be able to handle any unprecedented action in the field with minimum to no effect upon the grander scheme of things, but it would be a rather irritating diversion.”

The General waved a hand absently at that, as if hoping to brush the issue away like one would a particularly vexing insectoid, and continued at a brisk stride toward primary fire control. The events of the past cycle allowed them little time for detailed analysis, and Phasma could only glean so much from Hux’s mulish expression. While she was well aware of their shared preference for aiming at the core of any issue, she did wish in that moment for a little more time to occupy this topic with. 

“Our Lord Knight?” 

“Continuing the interrogation of the female native from Jakku, per the instruction of the Supreme Leader,” was the delayed response, biting tone a clear indicator of his thoughts on that turn of event. They turned into the entrance of central command then, the stationed guards straightening to attention as the passed. “Try to coordinate some form of response while I handle them in the meantime. I need you focused on the issue at hand, I’ll dally with Commander D’Vox’s ill timed mechanization. If we’re lucky, it shouldn’t be detrimental to the state of things in anyway at all, wonderful as they are. One would hope _Our Lord Knight_ will have perhaps salvaged what information we need by the time this is all over.” 

For all that the arena of politics was a place Phasma particularly preferred to avoid, she thought it a shame she wouldn’t get the chance to stick around and watch Hux unleash a well of pent up frustration in the form of acrid repartee. Then she caught sight of the Lieutenant and his retinue under the intent gaze of Colonel Datoo, and thought better of it. 

______________________________

 

_“... You're so lonely... so afraid to leave...”_

The water stretched in all directions like the dark fathomlessness of space, an endless body of mass that resisted against a delving hand.

_“At night, desperate to sleep... you imagine an ocean.”_

An indistinct form upon the amorphous horizon. A beacon amidst the pressure pressing in from either side.

_“I see it -- I see the island...”_

White-blue and iridescent, it encroached upon the vastness between them until its speed became apparent – a steadfast shooting comet, hope given form like the bright light of a star – like –

The blazing engine trail left in the wake of a Corellian YT model freighter, the vision slicing through the uncharted expanse they’d inhabited with blunt, harsh precision.

A shield and saber both, piercing what tenuous thread had still fastened his hold upon the scavenger.

He could feel it like a wound. A ragged, oozing gape in the pit of his stomach, what little equilibrium he could find bleeding out beneath him - he almost expected to see the harsh red mess painted in the trail of his footfalls across the snow, and then the polished durasteel that followed. Such simple knowledge, spread out before him and he’d been too distracted to grasp at it.

And now she was free, her untempered strength with the force a blunt but effective tool readily available to be used in her desperate attempt to escape. And her precious idol come to the rescue. He should have known. _He should have known_.

The thought of those shadows haunted his sight. An unprecedented event that left him unmoored. Simply having been on that vessel again clouded his senses like a foul stench, leaving an unacceptable lack of focus in its wake. The visceral nature of it meant that it took him rather a while to notice the odor was more literal in nature the further he ventured. It didn't however lead to the desired individuals. 

The exact nature of the liquid was questionable, but it was certainly viscous and pooling rather rapidly at the now stationary feet of Captain Phasma as it dripped sluggishly off of the smooth and previously cleanly polished chrome of her armor on to the floor around where she and two additional guards stood before him. Her escort seemed to have escaped the brunt of whatever their commanding officer had been slogging through. He had to wonder though at the effect the substance had on their firing rate where it clung to their gloves and the individual plates of plastoid.

“Finally get round to rigging that fight with the dianoga at just the wrong moment, Captain?” 

Where he would usually find a momentary bout of humor at the hilarious juxtaposition of this scene, it only furthered the disquieting effects of disturbed memories. The sour sentiment seemed shared all around. 

“FN-2187 has infiltrated the base, along with the Rebel Commander Solo and his Wookie associate.”  
He followed her signal to continue as headed, and moved to her side then. The drenched fabric of the cape signifying the Captain’s high rank was torn from her shoulders, Phasma discarded the offending item efficiently to the side as they went. Whatever the source of the excursion resulting in her state, it went pointedly unaddressed. “They targeted me in hopes of gaining access to the surface. I lowered the defensive shields in an attempt to corner them in that block, but communication with the main bulk of the division appears to have failed. Cutting them off at the detention level also appeared fruitless. The Scavenger?” 

A brief stretch of silence followed. For all that his distemper wasn't an uncommon occurrence, his companion seemed to make specific note of his brutal gait.  
“She is force-sensitive,” came the bitter admittance, before he continued, “I re-assigned a platoon stationed in one of the sub hangars, they are conducting a search as we speak. But it's only a matter of time before one of them intercepts the other. And their fighter’s have already entered the planet's atmosphere.”

Phasma reached into a pouch of her utility belt, producing a comlink and activating the receiver for the secure, high level frequency that was in range for communications with primary fire control. “Report Lieutenant. We’re being cut off down here, what is the situation.”

The response was immediate. “The Resistance has begun its initial assault - both the Finalizer and the Eradicator are engaged with the bulk of what remains of their fleet. They seem to be utilizing long range frequency jammers in an attempt to sabotage communications between them, sir. All satellite based communication has suffered as a result. The effects span across most of the surface,” Mitaka’s voice wavered here over the tinny frequency of the outdated com, “And a small attack force has advanced upon Precinct 47.” 

That rang as a particularly weighted statement. The Master of Ren directed IR-1104 to rally an additional force to their location on return to the main hangar while Phasma appeared to be hammering out a lengthy damage report with the Lieutenant. He caught the Captain by the forearm mid-stream as she began detailing a coordinated plan of attack.

“I located their ship just beyond the outer periphery and stationed six trooper’s as a guard force. With their retreat cut off, that should leave them with minimal options.”  
A shred of good news, which definitely mollified the Captain some. They needed to regain control of the situation quickly. She ended the com with control, resuming their purposeful stride.

“Precinct 47,” Phasma began to explain unprompted, her admittedly far more detailed knowledge of the actual structure and workings of Starkiller an advantage, “Is where the main oscillator is housed, a fortified target designed for this sort of incursion. If they haven't moved to immediately extract the prisoner, or she has already been located, they’ll be attempting to aid their fighters from a presumably less guarded vantage point. We planned for this.”

Where Phasma’s strong conviction usually held a sure, cornerstone like quality in the force, her words seemed to call forth the barest of tremors of uncertainty in that instant. It did nothing to salvage his state, something less than its generally solid foundation. Yet another unsteady element of this entire operation.

He had only retained a simple memory of the layout of the main base, mostly out of spite. They followed Phasma, meeting their redirected units at the surface level entrance of the oscillator. The Captain and Kylo Ren took point, leading the Storm Trooper’s in to a suspiciously wide stretch of maintenance corridor - the blast doors in that sector had clearly been disabled. It meant it didn't take long for them to come upon the downed bodies of a patrol as they systematically cleared the outer sections of the compound. They were assessed for signs of life before they continued, eventually moving out into the cavernous interior chamber. 

The Knight halted them with a raised fist, pausing to direct their party to split off, the secondary group called with a fast gesture to ascend to the upper levels to continue their sweep. The Commander’s descended, sheltered in the shade cast by the angled support struts and the walkways above as they moved. The structure itself was vast, but though the majority of the space was dominated by the grand abyss tunneled down into the depths of the planet's crust, there were a myriad of places to remain hidden amongst the complicated machinery. It also made it equally as easy to be taken unawares. 

The crouched trooper they stumbled across in the cover of the next support column was much too distracted to notice them at first, and then not quick enough on the draw to pose as anything other than a target instead of achieving some sort of counterattack. For all that the opponent was a rather obvious surprise, to dispatch them was the result of a momentary reflex. The head and following body made much less of an impact than that of the object that had been held in the previously breathing individuals grasp, and the momentary crackle of a lightsaber was far more easily lost to the dull murmur of mechanics than that of a blaster shot. 

Kylo only vaguely payed attention to Phasma’s murmured outward observations as she knelt over the fallen figure. His main interest was the spherical object he plucked from the ground, tilting his head curiously as he inspected it. The casing was scuffed, the metal dull - clearly salvaged goods. Regardless, the thermal charge in his palm was primed and ready. The low whine of the thing was grating, and he wanted more than anything in that moment to hurl the treacherously familiar object into the nearby chasm. He turned to regard the Captain and was met with yet another unforeseen discovery - apparently they were going to compare. 

The detonite Phasma held in offering was a complete contrast; a reasonably clean cut cube, if small in its amount. The additional charge atop was a regulation peice of Order equipment, simplistic in design and regularly employed for use both in and out of combat, he knew. Quite different to Ren’s own find, and as his companion leaned over to indicate within the storage pack strapped to the corpse - in much more abundance.

“A little overkill, wouldn't you agree?” 

A unmistakable implication that was disgustingly pathetic.  
“It would appear that the Resistance beat our second traitor to the punch. I'm rather beginning to question the absolute effectiveness of you-”

“Not ours,” came the severe rebuff, gaze steely for all that it was veiled. He knew he was trying her patience. She directed his gaze to the body at their feet again, and upon more focused inspection he could make out the small distinctions - this wasn't one of theirs troops. “The _Eradicator_ came to our ‘aid’ just before we engaged - this is a bit more extreme than we anticipated.” 

Kylo snorted inelegantly at the obvious understatement, the noise translated harshly through the vocorder. Preparedness seemed moot so far. He turned his back then upon the scene, his mind on inspecting the support column for anything further when he saw it - a flash of tan leather amidst a dark palette and the low light. Somehow the reality of it still had yet to sink in until that very moment.

The illusion could still hold if not examined too closely; the hair is a shock of silver, where he remembers a light brown.  
And even from here he appears smaller, stooped somehow.  
But he knows, can sense it now in the way the very ground seems to shift beneath him - that gut wrenching sickness before the inevitable fall.

The frequency of the explosive he still tightly grasps seems to rise, a shrill siren to call forth his wrath -but a vast emptiness sits in its place. The feeling the inside of the Falcon incurred increased tenfold and for that an encompassing rage burns inside him, stronger now is that hideous feeling of impotence. Still somehow railing at the retreating form of this man from the void. A black hole bleeding out from his core where usually he reached to find that overflowing well of anger, a honed weapon of precision to be wielded with experience - now somehow a untested instrument in the hands of a - a novice, a-

No. 

_No._

He must-- 

A strong hold wrenches him for whatever action he moved unconsciously to make. The Master of Ren knows not what his true intent was. He is suddenly aware of the intense grip of his fingers circling the hilt of his lightsaber, leather straining round the flesh and bone of each individual knuckle. The explosive is gone from his other hand, now a clenched fist. Rolled somewhere out of his field of vision. The hold on his arm is just as firm as his, and he pools that combined dull pain to him - looks for a centre. Finds the bare edges of his focus and holds.  
Phasma. It's Phasma.

“Hold your position,” is the quiet command, the Captain’s line of sight set to a higher point. He’s not sure he could arrest his eyes from the space that was inhabited by that ghost, but a second later the distant hiss of hydraulics signal that he is proved wrong. 

A viewing platform on the furthest most level is bathed in what little light remains from the outside. The deserter and that girl stand spotlit, and it's enough of a target for the closest of their ranks to open fire. 

Kylo Ren finds the will to move as the cacophonous sound of multiple blasters fills the air about them, but still the Captain keeps him back. He tries to throw her off, seeks the strength he ought to find without the aid of her hold on him. The clip fastening his saber pulls free.

“ _Sir_ , the command-”

“Let go,” he snarls, the syllables a distorted growl. The weapon in his hand is raised, but the gesture is an empty one and they both know it. 

“Supreme Leader tasked me to bring him the scavenger!”

“And it will mean nothing if we allow our enemies to cripple us in the heat of battle, left completely unguarded.” 

He finally pulls loose of her hold, flinging his arm out violently in his haste. A bolt of plasma flies past their position and singes the side of the pillar they stand behind, forcing Kylo to duck back before he can try to enter the fray again. He doesn't want to hear this, this level-headed tactical assessment. He knows what he has to do, there is nothing but- 

“They already have a significant number of troops planetside, if they fail to- Si- _Ren_!” 

He relents then, whirling around and matching Captain Phasma toe to toe in an effort to win back some sense of authority.

“If they can't sabotage the inner workings of Starkiller, they'll halt the order to fire before it's even been given. Primary fire control will be their next target, they already have officers stationed there to coordinate the orbital assault. What use is one prisoner if our entire force fails in the face of some insignificant’s power play?” The logic of her statements are merciless, but he doesn't care. 

The natural progression of what is being suggested is obvious, and he can't stand it. Of all the times their ease in battle has been a boon, for her to see straight through him in this moment-

“I will remain to deal with the interlopers, and detain the prisoner and FN-2187,” the only falter in her words comes here, the name a spike of seething emotion in an otherwise calm deliverance, “Central command will be targeted for assassination, from highest to mid ranking officer’s. You know this.”

And a low blow to finish, a snarl he can't contain ripped from him in response. He almost hates her then, her gaze bearing down from the scant inches she has on him.

“From what you're implying, I have to point out that neither of us is quite so objective,” it's a underhanded shot, and he's not sure if he regrets that or the remark itself.

The icy aura the Captain exudes could almost lead one to believe they'd stumbled outside at some point. Phasma has perfected the art of telegraphing her emotional state through sheer will alone when necessary, the designed neutrality of the armor no barrier in that respect. Quite impressive for someone with little to no sensitivity to the force. Still she holds resolute before him.

She can sense it too, blind as she is. Her solution an offer he can not accept - shouldn't allow. Already, the gravity of that wretched, festering thing that has somehow taken root pulls at him.

Kylo Ren moves past the Captain. The long line of his darkened silhouette stretches before him, the last dregs of Starkiller’s sun at his back. The moment he makes a heading for the nearest opening admist the continued chaos there is a shift - but he needs to hold on to the notion of what this will achieve. He cannot look back.

______________________________

 

Turbolaser fire streaks sporadically like strikes of lightning upon the horizon. The entirety of primary fire control is hosted to the full on spectacle of the Resistance's planetary assault. TIE and X-Wing alike soar and dive in an intricate display of awesome prowess. Starkiller’s officer’s are focused upon their individual tasks, but their General stands as a resolute sentinel to the unfolding stand off. It's a rare thing as of the last years, to be this close a witness to action. And conflicts are fluid events. The tipping scales at the whim of any innumerable set of details. 

The _Finalizer's_ crew has always excelled under pressure. 

Data is pouring in from stations across the colossal base, preparations for the second firing of the weapon beginning to culminate. 

“You need only make the request, _sir_ , and we will endeavor to redirect any available squadrons to your aid.”

The nasally tone of one of their guests still manages to cuts through the assembled commotion. A needless distraction he has no desire to be preoccupied with. He has made a concerted effort thus far to avoid any and all attempts made by their interlopers to situate themselves within proceedings, but they can only be avoided for so long. Hux mentally begins gathering the strength to deal with these sycophants, but he needn't have bothered. They’re interrupted by a large figure barreling into their midst.

It's Ren, steps unapologetically loud as he stomps through the main doors. He’s dragging the lifeless body of a trooper in his wake, and has flung them at the foreign attaché imposing themselves in the centre of the room before anyone has time to intervene. 

The tell tale crackle of unstable plasma springing to life is the only warning given before the blade of Kylo’s saber careens through the nearest of the lot, making short work of the senior most official in his distracted state. One of his guards gets off a shot that is deflected with ease, ricocheting away. A stray Lieutenant is quick to join the fray while the Knight is occupied, swinging the second trooper bodily over his shoulder before dropping down to brutally crush their windpipe beneath the force of his bent knee.  
It's all over in a matter of seconds.

Hux raised a brow, staring down at the prone forms of the Eradicator’s officer’s before casting a unimpressed eye over the now stationary pair. Rodinon appeared to be supremely unapologetic even under the scrutiny of Datoo’s withering gaze. The General didn’t have time to argue about the merits of quick response times, turning to the Knight. His hands are steady at his back, and he refuses to examine the improvement upon his previous uncertainty this unprecedented event has had.

“Much as I am appreciating your penchant for chaotic spontaneity in this moment, I have the feeling that may have actually served a functional purpose. Care to enlighten us all?”

Kylo Ren does not. Instead, he reaches to extract some object concealed on the person of the worthless Officer of which Hux can no longer recall the name lying dead at their feet. It’s flung at him with a particularly petulant gesture, and he catches the small item on instinct before bringing it to eye level for inspection. 

“It would seem some members of your great military machine,” the derision of that statement is clear, “are so desperate they'll actively attempted to thwart their very purpose in a bid to gain some measure of influence for themselves.” 

A remote detonator lies upon the flat of his hand before he encloses it in a tight fist. He can feel Ren’s eyes on him even if he can't see the no doubt damnably snide expression hidden past the mask. 

“They were accompanied by a division,” non-engagement has been the tactic thus far, Hux doesn't see why it can't still be employed here. He turns to the nearest station, continuing, “Where were they posted before we lost communications?”

“Patrols were diverted to the defense of all landed craft and access points. The main hangar bay was given top priority.” 

And would be the most obvious target, if they really were playing host to some half-arsed coup.

“Treachery really does seem to be the theme of the day, doesn't it?”

As soon as he looks back to the black clad figure he knows it's a mistake.

“I am honored, Lord Ren,” he had always wielded courtesy like the sharpest of vibroblades, and spares no effort here, “That you could take the time to bring this to my attention. I hope our little drama didn't pose too much of a distraction to catching your errant scavenger?” 

The force swells, the uncomfortable pressure like the humidity infused air of a torrid climate about his person. Or at least he almost finds himself hoping it's Ren’s eccentric magic tricks. A lack of control at that level would be unacceptable now.

Such blatant unprofessionalism - Ren is no stranger to emotional outbursts, but neither of them should be allowing the other to goad them so easily and publicly to boot. The man is searching desperately for a confrontation and Hux is almost ready to hand it to him. Then fate seems to intervene.

“Sir,” it's Petty Officer Dutch, steadfastly focused upon her terminal even as she interrupts her superiors, “Sensors report a massive temperature increase. The oscillator-”

A blinding flash cuts her off.

The desperate glint of the planets star is gone, replaced by a distant blaze. The far off hexagonal form of the primary oscillator housing is engulfed in a massive inferno, the plume rising up to pierce the veil of the bleak atmosphere. A pillar of fiery ruin illuminating the pale landscape. All surrounding structures appear to bow in the disaster's wake, and then the shock wave reaches their location. 

The very walls shudder, strewn objects clattering to the floor. Then silence save for the alarms emitted from various consoles and the dull roar of distant destruction audible even through the thick transparisteel. A stillness lies heavy upon all occupants of the room. Minutes pass. Then another voice, quiet but sure.

“General,” Sonita’s substantial iris’ are cast red by the automated warnings that flash across his screen, “We are no longer receiving reports from main engineering. All status uplinks appear non functional.” 

The fuel cells. If they've ruptured, there's no salvaging this. A call needs to be made here, they have few options and they rapidly decrease the longer he is silent. The pause lies heavy on them all before he speaks.

“Chief Unamo,” the woman in question is at once to attention, gaze unwavering, “Activate the necessary procedures for a planet-wide evacuation. Colonel? Lieutenant?” 

Mitaka is at his side promptly, nervous energy radiating unchecked. Datoo is ashen, but maintains his calm better than the younger officer. “Escort command to the main hangar. When you reach the Finalizer, take as many aboard as you can but do not delay. We have no frame of reference for what will occur once the planet collapses. And the _Eradicator_ may yet see fit to fire upon us if they don't have enough sense to retreat themselves. The moment you deem that the risk is too great, you leave this sector for the assigned rendezvous point. Is that understood?” 

“Yes sir!” They respond in unison. 

People begin to vacate the room in response. Unamo remains seated, fingers poised over her station. They don't have time for hesitation, the General catching her eye again and infusing his voice with the subtle steel of command.

“We need to act quickly, save as many personal as we are able with whatever time we may have.”  
That appears to strengthens her resolve, completing the task in a timely fashion before she also stands to leave. A warning klaxon sounds and then grows in volume as time passes.

Only their superiors remain. 

He breathes deeply. Takes hold of his greatcoat from where is it folded across the nearest console and pulls the gaberwhool across his shoulders as if to armor himself against what lays behind. The cap next is secured tightly over the stiff set of his hair.

Kylo Ren stands motionless before him. Statuesque. 

“Preparing to go down with your base?” 

He will not look at him, focuses instead on the torn edges of his robes. Wonders if the minute tremors he feels shuddering through his frame are seismic or it he has truly begun to lose all semblance of control. 

“Hux,” the tone then is quiet, subdued. A sharp contrast to the previous venom. He wants to demand the return of the harsh vitriol. 

“We need to leave,” he states, and strides steadily through central isle of the room toward the blast doors. Holds at the entrance and waits. When he finally feels that familiar looming presences at his side, he continues onward. 

The main hangar is about as controlled as one can expect. The strewn forms of down troopers litter the landscape, plasma careening through the air from all sides. But all TIE docking bays stand empty and few craft remain which speaks of a concerted evacuation effort. Their soldiers appear to have succeeded thus far keeping what remains of the _Eradicator's_ raiding force blocked in at multiple entrance whilst the few dregs of their personnel board the last of the functional shuttles. It's only now that their lines are thinning that they are gaining any advance. 

He's about to make a try for it when the collar of his uniform tightens, Hux dragged bodily by the scruff of his neck and out of the path of some indistinguishable piece of wreckage as it crashes just beyond the entrance they're sequestered in. 

“Watch your step,” Ren quips, unashamedly amused. His mercurial temperament is absurd, and he barely restrains striking the man. That’s something to be dealt with though. Hux moves to the cover of the fallen paneling and proceeds to search the nearest carcass for something to arm himself with. Any blaster the nearest unfortunate individual had has been crushed along with their upper body, but a pistol is still holstered at their side. 

“General Hux!” Datoo’s sudden stricken voice calls out loudly, the man too loyal by half for someone his senior in age if not in rank. He stands poised at the end of a ramp much too far away, obviously having stayed behind to coral the last of their number. He waved him off before the Colonel could try anything, the open plane a risk not worth taking. 

Ren's upsilon-class shuttle also sits at the other end of the hangar. One of the large wings has been crushed, bent awkwardly under the pressure of similar ruble which leaves that out of the question. 

He primes the blaster pistol in his grasp, moving instinctively to cover Ren’s back as they take stock of the available craft. The remnants of two basic carriers are a distance away to their right, a third in tact at the end of the line. A pair of Storm Troopers are working to keep clear the open ramp at the back of the shuttle, a means for the last to escape. It's the best available option, and they need to work fast is they're going to reach it.

Kylo pivots, deflecting a blast from the left while Hux ducks under his arm and takes out two figures moving toward the damaged vessels. Then they charge and begin to make decent headway until another quake rocks the earth, great chunks of machinery falling to crater the ground on all sides and distracting them from oncoming fire.

Hux moves without thought - a rookie mistake that he pays for immediately. Pulling at Ren’s multitudinous layers gets him out of the way, but he isn't quick enough to shove them both out of the path of a stray blaster bolt. Heat explodes outward where it pierces his side, and he's overbalanced and dragged them half to the floor in an instant. Kylo shoves a hand under one arm and shifts him roughly again behind what appears to be unattended cargo. 

“You've grown rusty, General. I think I should be the one to deal with our assailants from here.”

“I agree. You’re welcome to the next available gut wound too!” 

Ren pays him no mind, leaning down to examine where the charcoal of his uniform has begun to darken. A leather clad hand reaches out, to what end he's not sure, but is halted suddenly. His companion turns rigid at his side, head whipping round to focus keenly upon something unseen beyond their make shift cover. 

A shrouded figure emerges from the smoke of a ruined pipeline. Hux has hosted a number of Ren’s subjects in the past. It's easy to spot them all in their monotone garb. But this one he has never met. The sword in their hands is ridiculous. The blade stretched out wide and crackling with tempered energy, tethered to a thin slip of a hilt. Mask under the hood a cluttered set of flaked apparatus fashioned rather crudely in the mimicry of a skull. 

“My Lord.” Their modular voice is pitched high, a tainted screech that can only be the result of some type of fault.

‘The ways of the force’, as Ren would say, are often immense and unnerving. This thing has been on base for frack knows how long undetected and, as far as Hux can glean, unknown to its Master which can't bode well.

“I knew this day would come. From the very beginning, it could only lead here.” 

As the figure rambles on, a large hunk of the surrounding detritus begins to ascend at its side. 

“You've always been too _weak_ to finish what you start.” 

And shoots into motion, cutting a wicked path straight at them. The Knight counters agilely, cleaving the thing down its centre into steaming halves. A jagged edge clips the man’s outstretched arm, jarring him back a step.

“What was that about conniving contemporaries?” His genuine unease and the shortening of his breaths takes the bite out of his hushed query. Hux isn't really sure he could muster up much real contempt in that moment anyway, they don’t have time for this. But Kylo is gone before he can suggest any other course of actions, not that he'd take it. The Master of Ren has always favored a hands on approach. 

It's just like him to entertain such outlandish theatrics in the centre of a rapidly devolving hostile takeover amidst the collapse of an entire planetary body. The two cloaked figures appear to be hosting their own oblivious rehearsal for some Plavalagian opera, the way they're swinging their antiquated weapons around the place, the bedraggled tatters their order passes off as uniforms billowing out behind them as they move. Hux attempts to reassess their situation while crouched behind a series of strategically angled container units, one hand occupied with staunching the bleeding from his side and hopefully keeping his internal organs where they are suppose to be. It seems the less extreme of the two options.

The two Knights seemed an equal contest of strength, locked in a shuddering stalemate. 

Until they weren't. One fierce, well timed thrust is enough to unbalance Ren, his assailant catching him in the meat of the outer thigh before whirling around to land a wicked upward slice following their momentum. The brief instant of the sound of wrenched metal and electronic circuitry is ear splitting at this close a range, even with planet-wide destruction as a backdrop. Something careens toward his position, and Hux slumps down in an effort to move out of its path. He turns as the debris rolls to a stop some distance away with a hollow thud - Ren’s helmet, the face of it almost cleanly cleaved in half. Its in tact state is a testimony to the sharp, sure strike of his opponent.

He momentarily scrabbles inelegantly to the other side of his cover to find a better angle of the scene behind, finally catching sight of his co-commander prostrated on his back across the ground of the hangar. At any other time this would be a rather gratifying turn of events, if not for the rapidly growing pool of blood spreading underneath him. All he can assess from where he is is the mess of the man's shoulder, the blow passing directly across his collarbone. The Knight is trying futilely to right himself, while the other Ren gradual advances upon him with predatory intent. 

Hux needed to act quickly if he was going to save the both of them, he knows. But for all his ability to detail meticulous military stratagem in the heat of conflict, his mind now is perilously blank. He’d lost the blaster pistol a ways off during the fall. Scans his surroundings, the strewn cargo and fallen soldiers providing little for improvisation. But not nothing. 

He catches one side of the cloaked figures massive sword with his projectile, aim true where the throw may he been somewhat weak. The weapon slowly lowered from where it was held menacingly aloft in response before it's wielder is blasted away by the ensuing explosion. 

Hux dashes out from his refuge, careening unsteadily to a stop where Kylo is sprawled and getting his first look at the entirety of the damage. 

The gash is extensive. Jagged and raw, it carved a path from under Kylo’s curved jaw and tapered off just past the apex of his considerable nose. His features had always tended to lean towards what could be described as exaggerated, and the wound was no less similar. At least the charged blade appeared to have cauterized it some. But the Knight must be have been in immense agony. 

He gets a firm grasp on the set of the man's broad shoulders, but topples over before he gets any leverage. Ren is still uselessly squirming about, groaning with the effort of trying to right himself with one arm. The other is outstretched toward the far off hilt of his discarded lightsaber. After a moment it skids gracelessly to their position and bumps against the Knight's hip. The General snatches it up before Ren can even make a try for it, ignoring the man's loud protests as he tucks the offensive thing into his belt beneath the wide span of his coat. 

“Will you just hold still?” Hux is trying to save this idiots skin, yet here Ren is making the process just as difficult as he does all things.

“Was that a spanner you just threw?” Is what he gasps out, incredulous.

“Taped to a thermal detonator, yes,” He takes hold of the left arm instead, words pushed past grit teeth, “All on base utilities come with magnatomic adhesion grips as standard for the safety of the user.”  
He can't believe he’s discussing the state of the Order’s engineering equipment whilst the very earth they stand on begins to destabilize beneath them, but then he does need this absurd creature to be awake if they're going to make any sort of progress towards their escape. Hopefully if he keeps the Knight talking that'll stave off unconsciousness for as long as they need.

Ren lets out a strained laugh, crooked teeth set in a manic grin even as his sweat and blood streaked features contort in pain. Dragging him to his feet with one hand wrapped round his torso is a gradual thing, but they manage. Then a particularly loud grunt of warning has his head shooting back up. He bought them moments and it was a futile effort. The Master of Ren’s former subordinate stalks toward them, hood torn and mask singed but otherwise appearing unharmed and no less dangerous after bearing the brunt of that small detonation. 

Until Starkiller shakes violently for a third time. A delicate web of fractures spiral out across the solid duracrete, the line of a fault racing towards them to form a diagonal arch. It directly intersects their positions, some scant inches between their boots and the rough fissure as it begins to part. The earth shudders, the crack separating them yawning wider and wider until a veritable canyon now sits in the centre of what was once the floor of the hangar bay.

Snow swirls past Hux, caught in the cold bite of the wind. Their attacker stands drenched in the artificial light of the overhang where they now are plunged into unnatural night. He moves to the waiting shuttle before either of the Knight’s can try anything particularly inventive to circumvent that turn of events. 

He deposits Kylo on one of the benches to the side of the cargo hold, then keys in the command to close the rear hatch of the carrier. Two additional Storm Trooper’s are seated at the main controls when he enters the front with a third in tow, all of which salute him as he sits. The order to take off goes unsaid, and the distant mountainous peaks gradually becoming more undefined as they begin to leave the surface. There no longer appear to be any major vessels still stationed in orbit when they clear the atmosphere at least. Only a scant few ships flit into the distance. Neither the _Finalizer_ or the smaller Maximum-A Class vessel that had encroached upon them were in sight. Just the featureless darkness of space. 

Hux can't help but turn to his side and peer back to see what remains. 

“General, sir, the coordinates-” 

His entire field of vision is filled by the shuddering remnants of the result of the last years of tireless work, falling inward as they are sacrificed to the birth of a new celestial body. The culmination of so many resources, the work of hundreds of dedicated hands.

“Sir, please-” 

How did it come to this? How had they lost control of the situation so easily? So quickly? Had he not stood at the helm of this vast work just moments before? Seconds? 

“General!”

And then he is suddenly aware of the fact they haven’t escaped trouble yet. His co-commander has made his way into the cockpit and unseated the pilot whilst he had let himself become distracted, hands clumsy upon the controls as he commandeers their ship-

_“Ren, stop!”_

-and propels them into the void of hyperspace, a well of stars trailing in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, confession. This is literally the first time I have ever completed and published something and I really rushed myself to finish it. I really don't know if I'll get round or have the courage to expand on the chaptered work I had in mind for writing this intro shot to. The work is subject to my own headcanons. 
> 
> Also this is all unbetaed so if you spot a mistake, would you please let me know?
> 
> I just wanted to give this a try so please be gentle?


End file.
